


Doctor's Orders

by testedcyberneticz



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Cyberverse
Genre: Eye Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Perceptor implied he had been in the loop lets take advantage of that, idk how to tag this, not graphic tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26108701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/testedcyberneticz/pseuds/testedcyberneticz
Summary: Ratchet wants to fix Perceptor's optics.Perceptor, meanwhile, is very good at avoiding doctors.
Relationships: Implied Dead End/Perceptor (Transformers)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	Doctor's Orders

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is kind of experimental writing style so. Oop here u go.

"Hey Perceptor!" Ratchet's slightly gruff voice calls out with a hint of excitement. Perceptor turns, because he can't see him otherwise, and sees the silhouette of a somewhat tired but relieved Ratchet. He probably wouldn't have noticed it if he still had his optics, but you had to learn somehow. 

"Yes?" He moves another crate of energon. Specifically, because the Quintesson and Titan invasion finally ended, and, well, Maccadam was dead. And then he finds out the old, strange mech leaves him a message. Specifically, with a request he couldn't refuse. So here he was, getting the bar ready for reopening, because he was in charge of it now. 

"Repairs for everyone is going well, so I thought while y'know, no one's in threat of deactivating, we could finally get your optics fixed." Perceptor really can't tell if he's smiling, he can't tell with anyone, and it's more stressful than it should be. Which means, at all.

But also, he never had felt comfortable with being in clinics or hospitals. Not to mention the idea of that... It felt wrong. He could handle being like this for just awhile longer. 

"You should rest. You've been working on patients all day, my optics can wait." He slides out from his own mouth as smoothly as he can. 

"But it'd be quick." 

"Several quick operations becomes one long operation." Ratchet doesn't move for awhile, and the anxiety worsens. It's unsettling. 

"You're right when you're right." He lets out a vent and admits soon enough, and the anxiety leaves Perceptor.

* * *

Trying to understand what kind of weird silhouette that stranger had had been an odd experience. Because that's all seeing people or things was like now. 

Silhouettes. Nothing more. 

It didn't help that somewhat of a mess had been caused, too. Going around, shooting customer's drinks and demanding people, to the point of pulling someone out. He lets a deep vent of air escape him as he cleans up the mess. It was times like these where he wished, he, too, had the ability to deescalate situations so easily. But his alt-mode was a microscope and wasn't nearly as intimidating. 

Either way, he was cleaning up the mess now. It was harder to get a wider range of cleaning motion when your vision was stuck as if constantly looking into a telescope, but he'd manage. He'd gotten through an entire invasion like this after all. 

"Hey Perceptor!" Perceptor's scope tries to look in the direction of Ratchet's voice so fast that he swears he can feel it just centimeters from his own face. 

"Yes, Ratchet?" He asks. There's silence for some few seconds. 

"When you finish with the bar, I can fix your optics later." Ratchet offers, and Perceptor only hopes his frown isn't too obvious. 

"I won't have time. There's still a lot to take care of as of now." He explains, because it's true.

_Right?_

He feels some kind of emotion seep off of Ratchet and pushes it away gently, "Well, make an appointment when you can, alright?" Is what Ratchet says, and Perceptor hates the amount of worry in his voice. 

"I will." He states, and it doesn't feel like a promise. 

* * *

It wasn't a promise. He was grateful it wasn't, as he scrolls through the several messages from Ratchet in his HUD. Each one tells him what kind of state each message is left in. It's so obvious he's appreciative his HUD is private. 

All of Ratchet's repeat themselves: Unread, unread, unread, unread, unread, unread- it goes on and on. 

He notices that messages from Hot Rod, Whirl, Clobber, and Soundwave are either read or replied to. 

He _especially_ notices that every message belonging to Dead End is replied to. 

Dead End's tone snaps him out of his HUD, "Could this place even get any louder?" He has one arm leaning on it's elbow on the bar table, his head leaning on his hand. His other arm (and hand) is occupied with a drink of energon, "I've always hated parties." 

Dead End's words weren't exactly an exaggeration. The defeat of the Other One was something to be celebrated in it's own right. Maccadam's was full and music was barely audible over all the excitement, even though he remembered putting the music on high volume. He was happy Soundwave was here for once, the musical Decepticon was able to stop fights nearly as quickly as Maccadam used to be able to. Of course, not everyone is at the party. There are some who are busy with certain things, but that doesn't make the place feel smaller. There's so many mecha it's astounding, really. 

"And yet you're here." Perceptor notes. Dead End makes an odd noise, then sputters slightly and quickly. 

"So what." He mumbles as quietly as one can at a loud party and still be heard. Perceptor simply shrugs without saying much else. 

Over the crowd, he notices the noise of Ratchet once again talking about some horrific injury, and then hears a glass break when he gets to the part about a processer being involved. Hot Rod, Whirl, and Clobber's laughter is also noticeable while Soundwave begins playing some odd Earth song. Grimlock's personality is hard to ignore in general as well. It's nice, really. 

When it all ends, Perceptor gets a new message. 

He leaves it unread.

* * *

The bar is empty, it's almost closing time.

Perceptor traces the inside of his empty optic. One thumb, drags and lines itself smoothly across the inside, not quite on the actual mechanisms inside but not outside either. Just on the edge of it all. The pain by now is dull and numb. There's just the slight feeling of static as he touches a part of the outer rim. Then, he slowly takes his thumb away from it. 

It's a bad habit, and he knows it. But it's in it's own right reassurance. Which, in retrospect, is probably worse. 

"Perceptor." Says Ratchet's voice as he walks into the bar and makes a straight line for him. His body language is tense. 

"Ratche-"

"Clinic. Now." His voice is stern and tense.

"What-"

" _Now_ , Perceptor." 

"What about-" 

"Megatron is stable and being watched over by Shadowstriker, who is verified for the job. The bar is basically closed. Also, your little 'crew' basically dragged me out of my office," Ratchet's silhouette looks like the same kind of silhouette for when he hooks his thumbs into his waist plating, "They're worried."

"I see." He says neutrally. He doesn't move. 

"I'm not leaving, Perceptor." 

"Ratchet." 

"Perceptor." 

And he gets frustrated and maybe even slightly panicked. Actually, extremely so. Sure, he never liked going to clincs or hospitals. But that being the only reason is a lie both to Ratchet and himself, and he's so frustrated with the whole thing because if he could just go through with it it'd be over soon. 

He doesn't let it show on his face.

"Ratchet I don't want... I..." He let's himself trail off, because he doesn't know how to finish the sentence and Ratchet does.

"Listen, if you don't want your optics fixed that's fine. But I need to at least add some things so it doesn't hurt and so you don't keep putting yourself in danger. Having the inside of your optics open for the rest of the universe to see isn't exactly good for you." 

Except that wasn't it at all. He wanted to be able to see normally again. But not at this price, not at the price of someone being even allowed with tools to go near his head. The parade was something that wouldn't leave him anytime soon. Sure, he'd been perspective enough to transform and get out of there, but the way the loop worked was still mysterious. How many times did he actually watch that parade? There wasn't a clear answer for it. What if the loop had been longer, would he have formed bonds, only for them to no longer exist once the time came? The wound of having his own mind manipulated like that was still fresh. 

"We can figure something out," Ratchet's voice, tone suddenly becoming soft, broke him out of it all, "I promise. You should've said something sooner." 

Oh Primus, he'd said all of that _out loud_. His composure was broken. As if this interaction couldn't get worse. 

"Thank you, Ratchet." He says, instead of all the other things he could've. 


End file.
